Just another Saturday night
by Chapin CSI
Summary: SLASH. First time. Blair sees slash pairings in every show he watches, including CSI. How does Jim take it? New, more readable version posted on Sept 2006


JUST ANOTHER SATURDAY NIGHT

This story is told from Jim's POV.

I rewrote this story for mymongoose e-zine on Sept. 2006. I think it's more readable now.

* * *

It was a quiet Saturday night. 

Me and Sandburg stayed home and followed our little Saturday night routine: we cooked and consumed a copious dinner, we did the dishes, and then we settled in the living room.

Yep. It was just like any other Saturday night… Except that for some reason or other _I_ was reading a book, while Sandburg watched TV –not our usual scenario. Most nights he's the one doing the reading while I watch some adrenaline-filled movie.

But that night we'd altered the routine, and I didn't see anything wrong with it. Me and my buddy, we were enjoying a quiet Saturday night at home, and that was that.

It should have ended like any other night, too, with me climbing the stairs to my room, while Blair burrowed into his cozy futon.

But it didn't end like that, and it was Blair's doing.

It all started when, out of the blue, he said -

"That guy needs to get laid."

I frowned and looked up from my book.

Sandburg wasn't looking in my direction, so apparently that comment hadn't been directed to me but to the TV. He was completely absorbed by it.

I put my book down and mused on how relaxed he looked for someone who was violating several of my house rules:

He was lying on the couch, (rule # 4) his feet were on the coffee table, (rule # 6), and he was eating pop corn, (rule # 7).

There were mitigating circumstances, though: The popcorn was unbuttered and unlikely to cause a mess, and he'd put coasters under his feet. And, he'd been working his ass off at the Academy, so I figured he was entitled to take a little rest.

But there was another reason why I didn't ask him to please sit down like a civilized person: I just didn't want to talk to him.

I was determined to ignore Blair as much as I could, but it was damn difficult.

He shouldn't have been home in the first place. It was a Saturday night, for God's sake; he should have been out on a date –God knows he had enough girlfriends to choose from, now that he was attending the Cascade Police Academy. Those girls called him at all hours of the day.

And they didn't call him just to ask him out, either; girls –and boys, too, for that matter- called him with questions about their Police courses. In their eyes, Blair knew more about police work than the instructors themselves.

Well, of course he did; he learned with the very best –the boys and girls from Major Crimes.

But I digress.

As I was saying, Blair should have been out on a date, (hell, _I_ should be out on a date for that matter, except that I wasn't too keen on ending up in the middle of a shoot out, which was how my last couple of dates had ended.)

The truth was, Blair's presence wouldn't have bothered me, if he'd only kept his mouth shut for more than a couple of hours in a row. I'd been doing a good job at ignoring him until he spoke, and now I was curious about that little comment he made.

One quick glance at the TV screen got me the answer: He was watching one of his CSI tapes. (Yes, we still have a VCR. It's still working fine -why should I replace it with one of those flimsy DVD things?)

So, as I was saying, Blair was watching CSI. He's a big fan of the show –more accurately, he's a fan of Gil Grissom, which means that every Friday morning, like it or not, he subjects me to a gushing description of Grissom's exploits. He's all "Grissom did this" or "Grissom did that," and then he describes every little thing the guy did the night before.

Then, after he finishes telling me all about Grissom's feats, Blair never fails to add, "But you do a good job too, Jim. I mean, you don't even need a microscope to catch the bad guys!" And he says this in a kindly tone, as if he were reassuring me of something.

It pissed me off; I mean, come on, do I look like I need _reassurance_? He didn't think I was jealous of Grissom, or something, right? I mean, who cares if he solves crimes by using his brain? _I _solve crimes faster by using my gun and my fists! He's just another annoying TV show character…

But on that Saturday night, he had Blair's complete attention.

I mentally shrugged and turned my attention back to the Robert Ludlum novel open on my lap. It was a book that I'd been meaning to read through to the end for the last ten years, but it had never held my interest for long.

To be honest, I was only using it for cover. If I had picked up a newspaper or a magazine, Sandburg would have interrupted me; but whenever I pick up this book –or any book for that matter- he leaves me alone.

I'd barely read a couple of lines when Blair spoke again.

"I mean, look at him." he said, "So self-contained and proper-"

I looked up from The Bourne Indigestion and this time I couldn't help to ask,

"Who's self-contained and proper?"

"Grissom." Blair said, barely sparing me a glance.

"Oh, you mean the fat guy?" I asked uncharitably.

Blair glared at me.

"Yes, Mr. Sensitive," he replied, "That's who." He turned and looked at the screen again, "I mean, look at him; he pretends to be completely focused on that book he's reading... But deep down he's fighting down his darkest desires-"

I pretended not to hear that, but inwardly I started to curse.

Damn. _Damn_. Lately, it seemed that every time Blair opened his mouth, it was only to say something that was directly related to a recent incident, one that we were both involved in…

An incident that I didn't want to talk about –or even think about ...

... But what the hell. Maybe it was time for me to confront it and see if it was as big a deal as I thought it was.

It was simple, really. A week before, we'd gone to Simon's place for our monthly poker game, and we ended up drinking too much.

This had never happened before; usually one of us stayed sober in order to take care of the other, but this time we both got plastered, and ... well... something happened, and, hum... it really shook me.

In fact, it was because of that incident that I'd decided to stay home. I was sure that if I went out I'd end up having a drink somewhere, and then I'd come home and do something that I might regret. It's not that I would necessarily get drunk again, it's just… I was afraid that even the slightest amount of alcohol would impair my judgment, like it did the week before.

The thing is, something happened after we left Simon's place. I, hum, almost kissed Blair. Yeah, _me. _And, yes, _him. _

Man, we were drunk. We were so drunk that we could barely walk a straight line (Ha, a _straight_ line, that's a good one!); in fact, we had to haul each other up in order to get to the loft. But that's what buddies do, right? I mean, we had to hold each other close in order to avoid falling down the stairs.

We got home –just barely. We closed the door, and, with our hands still on each other's hips, we did a little celebratory dance. Hey, we'd managed to get home unharmed; we were entitled.

The problem was that for some reason we didn't let go. We turned to the other, gazed into each other's eyes, and… Well, we were so close that it seemed like the most natural thing to do: I leant forward and then I almost –

But I didn't. I pulled back immediately and would have bolted for the stairs, if he hadn't restrained me.

His hand felt like a handcuff on my wrist.

"Hey, it's ok," He said in the quiet tone he uses on aggressive dogs and desperate perps alike, "It's ok, Jim." He said.

"I didn't- I wasn't-" I babbled, "I'm not-" I took a deep breath and finally got one complete sentence out, "I didn't mean it."

"Ok," he whispered soothingly, "Whatever you say." Then he took a step closer and lowered his voice, "But if you ever mean it…" he said, pausing just enough to hold my attention, "I'll be ok with it."

I gaped while I reviewed what he'd just said. I stared at him and for a moment I wondered if I could-

But I wasn't _that_ drunk. I took a step backwards and gently pulled my hand away.

"I can't," I mumbled, "'night, Sandburg."

I bolted to my room. Once I was up there I realized I hadn't brushed my teeth but there was no way in hell I was going to leave my sanctuary.

I spent the night dialing down taste and scent, and chiding myself for losing control like I did. I couldn't believe my self-discipline had failed me so disastrously.

I could only hope that Sandburg would forget, once the alcohol left his system.

No such luck; the next day, Sandburg was unexpectedly direct.

"You know, Jim," he said after taking a sip of his algae shake, "In some cultures, a little spit swapping is considered the basis of a long-lasting relationship."

I almost choked on my orange juice.

"Chief!" I protested.

"What?" he said, giving me a look of innocence that didn't fool me. "I'm just saying-" he shrugged. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with a kiss. You get to burn off a few calories, you provide some pleasure and comfort, and-" he looked at me, "It usually leads to bigger and better things. So I was wondering if-"

"Blair-"

I rarely use his first name and it surprised him. It effectively shut him up, too.

"Look, Chief," I said. "About last night..." I paused. I wanted to bolt for the stairs, or the door, or even the balcony; I did not want to talk about feelings, for God's sake. But Blair deserved an explanation. "The truth is, I _wanted_ to," I admitted, "But I couldn't."

"Why?" He asked.

"I could give you a hundred reasons Chief, but... the bottom line is –I'm much older than you."

He exhaled, as if my words were a source of relief.

"Jeeze, Jim," he scoffed, "_That_'s your biggest reason?"

"Yes. And it's the only one that can't be overlooked."

"But it's only about ten years-"

"It's enough." I said with finality. And then I bolted.

Since then, I've been avoiding him.

* * *

That Saturday night, I covertly watched Blair. 

He's a good guy; the best friend anybody could have. To me, he's always been more than that, of course. He's my guide, the one person I always turn to... And he's cute as hell, too.

Oh, yeah. I've noticed, (with these senses, how could I not?).

The truth was, if he wasn't so young and so important in my life, (so important that a failed relationship would screw up everything else we have), I would have been sharing the couch with him instead of sitting on my own, pretending to read a damn book.

He, on the other hand, didn't seem to miss me; he was still talking about Grissom.

"I mean, just look at 'im," Blair said and I obeyed; Grissom was talking to that guy with the funny hairdo, Greg Sanders. "Grissom's smart," Blair rhapsodized, "And he relies on science to solve crimes. He's a great character, and he's hot." He added, giving me a warning look that meant I better not dare to contradict him.

I didn't.

"And according to you, he needs to get laid." I said instead.

"Uh, huh," he nodded and then looked back at the screen. "Most people think he should do it with Nick," He said thoughtfully, "Others picture him with Greg-"

"Nick? Greg?" I frowned, "But those are _guys_!"

"So?" he challenged. "Do you have any problem with that?"

And he gave me another look –one that meant he wouldn't tolerate having a politically-incorrect Sentinel.

Or a hypocritical one, I suppose.

"Uh, no, no problem." I mumbled, "But... aren't those guys a bit too young to -" I didn't finish my sentence; it suddenly dawned on me that I might be getting just a bit too obsessive about age.

"Yeah," Blair shrugged, "They're younger. So what? I mean, Grissom has never really lived, Jim; that's why he needs Nick or Greg." he turned his wonderful eyes in my direction to add, "Those guys would rock his world."

Suddenly I wasn't sure whether he was talking about Grissom or me – and I wasn't going to ask. Instead, I blurted out, "And who do you picture him with?"

"Oh, I picture him with me, of course."

I glared at him, but he just smiled. Actually, he was smirking, and I suddenly realized that he was playing with me. He was deliberately making me jealous...

Uncomfortably, I turned to my book again, only this time I wasn't reading; I was mentally repeating a mantra: _I am not having this conversation; I am not-_

Suddenly, the sound of an explosion broke into my concentration, and then I heard-

'We need to contact the Jaffa before the Goa'uld get to them!'

He was watching SG-1 now.

"What, no more CSI?" I asked.

"Well, since Grissom seems to offend your aesthetic sensitivities, I thought you might prefer to watch Jack O'Neill."

I put my book down. Well, he was right; I liked this guy O'Neill; he's a guy's guy who doesn't rely on brains to get things done. But I liked the other characters too; there was the guy with the mascaraed eyelashes, and the blond chick-

And suddenly, _he _was there. Daniel Jackson.

"Hey," I said, leaning forward. "Didn't that guy quit the show?"

"Well, he's come back." Blair said, "He's been doing cameos. Why?" he asked with a playful smile, "Did you miss him?"

And what kind of question was that?

I didn't answer; instead, I reluctantly looked down at my book again, even though I really wanted to know what Daniel was up to. I made a mental note to check out Blair's tapes the next time he was at the Academy.

I opened my book again and this time I forced myself to concentrate; I was finally getting an idea of what the story was all about, when-

"Those two should get laid."

I couldn't help it; I looked up again.

"Who?"

"Those two," Blair said, staring at the screen.

"O'Neill and Jackson?" I couldn't believe this.

"Yeah!" He said matter-of-factly, "Oh, come on, look at them. They're perfect for each other; they're different, but they complement each other."

"But... but-"

"Oh, I _know_," he said, rolling his eyes, "O'Neill is a bit older. But so what? He could rock Daniel's world. I mean, this poor guy might be younger but he hasn't lived-"

"Chief," I interrupted, "How can you see all this in perfectly straight shows?"

"Well, why not? It makes sense, Jim. I mean, think about it. These guys go through these dramatic situations week after week, month after month, season after season-"

"They're only TV characters, Chief," I said.

He gave me a look of incredulity.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Well..."

But I didn't know what to say. A couple of weeks before I would have known, I suppose.

"My point is," Blair continued, "Who are they gonna turn to for comfort?"

"Well... there's Sam." I pointed out, "And on CSI there's that blond chick with the orange lips-"

"But nothing has happened so far, right? Or maybe it's happened, but not in the way that most people think. I mean, look at those two. They would definitely do anything for each other; it's more than friendship, you can see that."

I stared at him, and I couldn't help thinking of all the things he had done for me…

But I stopped that line of thought. I looked down and started my mantra again.

"Fine." Blair said loudly. "Maybe I should just watch something else," he muttered and he actually got up to change tapes. "I have every episode from Due South-"

"Whatever." I muttered.

"Or maybe a movie? What about Jurassic Park III?"

I put my book down. Ooooh, I like that movie. There's a guy there who's a dead ringer for Simon and gets eaten by a dinosaur. I like to watch that scene over and over. In slow motion.

"I like Alan Grant," Blair said, "He and Billy make a good couple-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Chief!" I protested, "Not those two -"

"What, no good?" he asked innocently, "Can I watch the X-Files, then? Mulder and Skinner look so good together-"

"Sandburg!" I sputtered, "_Mulder and Skinner_?"

"What?" he frowned again. "Oh," He added, reality dawning on him, "You're more of a Mulder/Krycek shipper?"

"I'm not." I said indignantly, "I don't care one way or the other!"

"Fine." He retorted.

"Fine." I muttered.

"So, X-files, X-files," he said as he looked for the tape, "Or maybe I should watch something else," He added, speaking loudly to himself; "I've got a Starksy and Hutch tape here, somewhere-"

"And I suppose you're gonna say they ought to get laid too." I scoffed.

"Oh, please." he rolled his eyes, "In my opinion, they were doing it all along! Let's see..." he muttered, turning his attention back to the pile of tapes. "Or would you rather watch the granddaddies of slash, Kirk and Spock?"

Kirk and Spock? That was sacrilegious!

But it kinda turned me on...

I looked at Blair then. He had a huge pile of tapes in front of him and he was happily examining them one by one. If I didn't do something, he was going to spend half the night telling me all about the shows and the characters he'd got all those ludicrous fantasies on.

I mean, _Kirk and Spock_? Ha! _O'Neill and Jackson_? Please! I mean, who could imagine those guys getting together? It was preposterous! Almost as preposterous as the idea of Blair and me getting together, right?

Right?

And yet, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered. I mean, if Blair wanted to believe it was possible, then who was I to put a damper on his enthusiasm?

With this thought in my mind, I put my book on the coffee table, rose, took a couple of steps until I was within striking distance from Blair, and snatched the remote out of his hand.

"Hey, what the-"

"Shut up," I said, and turned off the TV.

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and unceremoniously hoisted him to his feet; then, before he could utter a protest, I pushed him towards the stairs.

"Wha -? Hey, wait a minute-" he said, trying to wrestle free. We grappled for a moment –he's getting better and better at hand-on-hand combat, and I just can't manhandle him as easily as I used to. Finally, he simply stopped in his tracks and refused to bulge, "What the hell do you think you're you doing?"

"I'm taking you upstairs." I said simply.

"Oh, really?" he challenged, "May I know why?"

"You know why," I replied huskily.

He glanced at me suspiciously.

"What," he said, "Just like that?"

"Why not?" I retorted. "What, you need some big declaration from me?"

"Well, no," he said, "But come on, you don't have to act like a caveman either-"

"Fine," I said. I gently cupped the back of his head, and then I leant forward and whispered into his ear, "Blair? I'd like to rock your world."

"Would you?" he muttered, with a husky tone of his one.

"Yep." I said, "Besides, quite frankly, I need to get laid, Chief."

He pulled back and smiled widely.

"All right!" He said and before I knew what was happening, he bolted for the stairs. When he reached the top he looked down and beckoned, "Hey, what are you waiting for? Hurry up, old man!"

_Old man?_

I bolted, just like he expected me to. And all along there was only one thought in my head: _Dear Lord. I only hope I survive this._

-------------------------------------------------------

THE END


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